Code: Name
by soshi185
Summary: An alternative perspective on picking superhero nicknames. They are both inspiration for each other, they just don't seem to notice.


If Bakugou's quirk arose from his eyes, not his hands, then intensity of a furious glance griping the writing pad would have turned it into dust.

He clenched his fists until his nails left pink stripes on the inside of the hand. Bakugou barely noticed it. Other students were as focused; the classroom sank in interwoven sounds of scratching pens, crossing out and erasing, sighs of contentment going into groans of disappointment, finally shuffling of chairs when someone derived sparks of courage and took the place at the teacher's desk, waiting for the superhero alias to spread through their tongue. Bakugou had already noticed that Aizawa, curled in the corner, peered at them with his lids half-closed, probably scoring silently, and Midnight was sending them happy smiles.

He risked a quick look down. There laughed at him a bare, ragged hole with still smoldering edges, at the beginning of the class being shaped like a nice and whole writing pad. Bakugou hadn't intended to destroy it - which was quite a change in his moods - but when he had begun to erase the name, previously criticized by Midnight, he put in it the fury breaking through to the desk. Few things managed to keep a pleasing form when Bakugou got them in his hands. Maybe one day the school will understand. Midnight has already seemed to realize it as she'd handed him another pad without a word.

The memory of Midnight's dripping in pity face when she'd observed him coming back to his seat, as well as amused snorts of some classmates, stabbed Bakugou painfully in the back of the head, distracting from the task.

She put him down. Again. A small prick aching like a twisting blade.

Bakugou squeezed harder the marker. When it answered with a warning crackle, Midnight put her fingers to the mouth and cleared her throat.

"Is anyone ready?" she chirruped, and Bakugou wanted to puke.

Some of dipshits were shouting all at once, fighting to get up in front of the class or defending themselves with sharp claws, giving Bakugou a fucking headache. He couldn't understand it: this noise, screaming, chaos. Being in a group, Bakugou always felt as if his head was going to explode from all the impulses attacking him.

Someone ignored the boiling racket and came forward. The class immediately fell silent.

"Me, if you don't mind."

"Of course they don't!" Midnight replied, clapping her hands and moving to the side. She almost bounced on her too-high heels. "I'm curious what our number two is going present. It will probably freeze blood in our veins~"

She laughed at her own joke, what students emphatically commented with silence. Kaminari, who apparently intended to add something, was punched by sitting next to him Jirou. Everyone's attention slipped from Midnight and focused on Todoroki, who stopped behind the desk. For a moment Bakugou was clenching his fingers on the marker, watching with exaggerated attention as the mosaic of grayish veins streaked more and more under his taut skin, then put it aside and lifted his head. The half-and-half freak stood straight, avoiding eyes of his classmates.

"Shotou."

One word, a shit name, and yet it put on the room a sheet of silence so heavy that Bakugou could pick out the echo of heartbeats and sighs breathed through teeth. Todoroki turned the writing pad and showed them syllables sketched with elegant writing, as if proving that he was not performing a stand-up comedy show.

Midnight clicked her tongue in discontentment.

"That's all? Your name?"

That's right, flashed through Bakugou's head with brunt of a glowing lightning and ignited satisfaction. He could think only about one scene - send him back, he ordered with a voice stripped of sound, make him bother over a new alias, push him lower than those idiots for whom the superhero's profession meant nonsense similar to names planned since childhood. He leaned back in his chair.

But Midnight just shrugged.

"As you think."

Todoroki nodded and returned to the back of the classroom without looking aside. Watching him, Bakugou hissed and clenched his teeth so tightly that they could as well break, rain down on the desk. It burst in momentary and pleasant pain, clearing his mind, and yet before his eyes burnt a picture of that half-assed motherfucker, so irritating and boring, his cold dispassion and carved in ice, emotionless face. Bakugou recognized someone so bland as his opponent? Fucking really? Indifference which Todoroki shown while using his quirk belched with boredom and wasted potential. Bakugou, working hard to climb to the top, hated it in this shitty young lord, put by his daddy on a pedestal. Bakugou would like to kick him to the bottom.

He didn't allow himself to ask too vehemently why Todoroki rejected the famous surname that had opened him the door to the academy and was satisfied with an average name, used by no one. Bakugou would then had to remind himself about the talk between the half-asshole and Deku, accidentally overheard and buried deep in the ashes of memory. Motivation of his rivals could too easily melt into a burden, slowing his way to the victory.

More and more people circled around the classroom, reading their ideas aloud, and Midnight approved them with enthusiastic shouts or quickly corrected irrelevant mistakes, exposing her as white as chalk smirk. Bakugou scowled at each of her remarks. Too long? Unfriendly? The teacher changed a poor syllable and suddenly everything sounded perfect. Bakugou couldn't overlook how he was the only one she'd sent back. He was far from a fool and though for others appeared to be a beast spitting with pride and flames, he actually learned to wear teachers' comments as any student. He didn't like it but didn't particularly care either, especially now, when he didn't make the slightest effort to come up with a proper heroic alter-ego. Bakugou wished for the name of the best hero to dance on people's lips, all other words were merely an aesthetic decoration for the media avoiding shit. The bodkin - long and thin - that now pierced Bakugou's heart was grooving whatsoever other claims - Midnight fluttered her eyelashes at much more stupid names, but made him the laughingstock left for eyes reflecting one more defeat. Bakugou grimaced, revealing a row of clenched teeth, and people sitting closest to him turned their heads, noticing something interesting on empty walls. Bakugou, however, knew better. Guys like him were always watched.

He leaned forward with the marker between his teeth, his elbows whacked against the top of the desk. Scattered pens with unmatched caps and rubbers hopped. The new writing pen flaunted its emptiness, waiting for letters, but remains of the previous one were still lying on the edge. Bakugou tilted his head back. The words he had written on it – King Explosion Murderer - have become just a streak scribbled with ashes. He snapped his fingers a few times, trying to focus, but nothing occurred to him. The first suggestion enclosed the nature of his quirk pretty well, sounded like a flare and matched Bakugou's character. That's what he was, and nothing more, and nothing less. But his snaps led only to more people turning away with anxiety painted on their faces, as if expecting Bakugou to blow up the entire building. The thought seemed tempting, though brought too short-lived benefits to take it into account.

Some presentations roused Bakugou from his reverie. He straightened up in a chair, a shadow cast by his tousled hair falling on furrowing eyebrows, and watched as his classmates with glued smiles talked about their plans.

The annoying hedgehog hair. Red Riot. The idiot with eyes only for his idol, clinging to their cloak like to a signpost, followed someone's footsteps blindfolded. The round face. Uravity. A stupid chick who got the crazy idea that she could be a match for him, but landed with her pretty face in the mud. Good, since in their fight she lost to the laws of gravity, she could as well put this humiliation into her pseudonym.

A few minutes before the last bell Midnight looked around carefully, tapping her nails on the back of the chair.

"Well ..." she began, "We have Bakugou, who needs to correct his name, and Midoriya, right?"

Bakugou felt the hot blood wandering through his veins boiling and spilling out, washing his whole body with a blazing fire. He swore softly, not caring if anyone could hear him. Of course he knew Deku didn't introduce his idea. By all means, he tried to focus on the pad and remain deaf to the buzz, yet he wouldn't miss the speech of that one fucking person.

Sure it's gonna be some pathetic counterfeit of All Might. Deku was always a fucking nerd, showed everyone what he was made of.

Bakugou spun the marker furiously around his fingers as the quiet steps moved to the center of the classroom, he waited... and heard only sounds of silence. As earlier with Todoroki, now the class fell silent and with slightly open mouth analyzed the pad where Deku scribbled something. Bakugou fought with himself, not wanting to look up.

"Are you really okay with that?" asked someone whose voice he didn't recognize.

"You might be called like that forever, you know," joined the hedgehog hair.

Midoriya took a deep breath. His voice trembled like a stretched string, something that always happened when he was forced to speak in front of everyone. Bakugou remembered this cabaret too well. He bit his lip until he could feel the salty taste on his tongue.

"Yeah, I didn't like this name until now. But someone changed the meaning of it, and that had a huge impact on me..."

Bakugou stopped listening. Blood was humming in his ears but the fire sizzling in his veins faded, melted, and now an icy wave was running down his spine. That feeling was so unexpected that Bakugou moved his fingers, making sure they weren't numb.

He didn't even have to raise his head to know what Deku was talking about. In that moment him and Bakugou left the four walls of the room, slammed the non-existent door and once again closed themselves in a crumbling building, facing each other in the first test.

Deku coughed, trying to get rid of ashes choking him down his throat but new clouds rose into the air with every of Bakugou's outburst. The weakling's legs were trembling, smoke and flashes of light stabbed his reddened eyes. In spite of all overwhelming weight, he held Bakugou's gaze, so that a scream aimed at a friend would become more difficult to avoid than clumsily carried attacks.

"My _Deku_ isn't always going to mean _useless_! My _Deku_ means _You can do it_!"

Deku.

Yes, he was Deku.

Bakugou thrust his nails to the verge of the desk, reprimanding himself not to get up and throw it at Deku.

Until now, he didn't know that "D" can have the shape of a mocking smile, that one word can be so provocative in its silence. Not the ice-and-fire bastard and not the round face (who, as Bakugou noticed, also called Deku like that), but only him could fully understand the meaning hiding behind these words. Deku's nickname has always filled the space between them, was flipped like a ball by just the two of them. And now that pathetic loser joked - and ridiculed, and challenged! - claiming that the insult Bakugou was spitting in his face since childhood was some shit medal of courage worn on his chest. But Bakugou understood - weakness had to be trampled, strength had to be cultivated. He followed this one rule throughout his life and always won.

Usually won, as his mind screamed in response. Bakugou felt bitterness in his mouth.

Backing out to his desk, Deku kept his head high and lips clenched in a thin line. Only for a moment, while passing by Bakugou, he turned and dared to give him a quick look. The mask of decisiveness broke up, showing cracks and revealing... sadness? No, Bakugou couldn't force himself to agree. He thought that determination was scratched by nostalgia, and Deku's eyes reflected the past which Bakugou didn't want to watch. When Deku noticed his expression, he fled like a kicked puppy.

Then the ringing of the school bell echoed through the classroom, waking up dozing students and picking them up.

"Silence!" Midnight yelled, trying to outshout the bell, "Bakugou's left, you can go home when he's done." She winked at him. "Come on, boy, everyone is waiting for you."

He couldn't knock her down, but could move toward her tromping, stamping with all his strength just at her leg. Midnight moved away gracefully, more amused than offended. The pad banged on the desk, perhaps leaving a dent. He wished he could burn it.

This signal cut short the chatters and sounds of school stuff hitting bottoms of the bags. Everyone, with poorly hidden interest, was waiting for Bakugou's new idea. If they wanted to stare, they would be a little disappointed.

"Master Explosions Murderer!" he shouted.

Someone blinked, somebody else snorted through their nose. The four-eyed, calling himself the class president, looked as if his blood returned to the upper, threatening with an imminent hemorrhage, but the round face leaned on her desk and put her hand on his shoulder with a tired smile.

"It's no different from the previous version!" Midnight snapped furiously, waving her whip in front of his nose. Several people nodded.

"Whatever, you told me to fucking finish," Bakugou growled, passing her, "See ya."

Even if Midnight threatened him or rushed to stop, Bakugou wasn't going to listen. In a way, he felt a relief when the woman only shook her head and bent down, collecting the papers.

Other students also packed their things, squeezing books and elbowing forward the door like animals released from stalls. Only Deku was dragging his feet. First he was checking the notebooks for too long, although he hadn't written anything, then pretended that the belt of his bag had loosened. He didn't say anything but Bakugou knew Deku noticed it.

Midnight accused him of not changing his nickname, yet she was wrong. For Bakugou, everything has changed when he voluntarily rejected one word and dethroned himself, writing in his superhero name less than he was worth.

For perhaps Bakugou didn't really deserve the name of the King - not after he lost to Deku and the rest of his band, not after the festival's defeat and many other flicks he has been insolently enduring since he started studying at this academy. One day, Bakugou thought. He will become the King again. For now, he will be only a master, better than anyone, worse than many, walking among the flames to the goal and burning obstacles along the way. He will never be as pathetic as Deku and take pride in invectives. And he will always be a bit similar to Deku, Bakugou realized, slamming the door and leaving a singed mark on the doorknob.


End file.
